His deft movements are almost artful in their precision, scooping and hollowing out the inside. The sharp blade easily slicing through with no resistance. His cuts around the eyes are accurate. Swift angled cuts to pop out one socket, then the other.

He starts work on the mouth next, focussed with such intensity that I find myself lost in watching him. I marvel at how the blade becomes an extension of him, like it belongs in his hand, fluid in his movements. He uses fast hard cuts to carve out a jagged maw.

The smell permeates the air; it smells almost sweet to me, the raw flesh. Daddy piles it to one side, saying with a wink “We’ll use that later.” The idea makes my tummy excited, I love Daddy’s plans. I resist the urge to poke my curious fingers into the fibrous wet pile. I imagine how it will feel, like plunging my hands into fresh wounds.

“Ta da” Daddy springs back with a smug smile. “What do you think Blade…?” He rocks back on his heels, waiting for me to take in the horror of the desecration in front of me.

I trace my finger around the cuts, still slightly damp. Daddy’s work is of professional standard, he’s dispatched of head innards in this way before, I can tell. The face is warped, gruesome twisted features that look almost pained.

“It’s a beautiful jack-o’-lantern Daddy,” I thank him with a kiss, excited to take my Halloween treat to the porch, to light it… to send the signal that this horror house welcomes visitors.

“Are the treats ready Daddy?” I call out to him as I come back into the kitchen. “They might be here soon.” Excitement bubbling through my words.

“Of course my precious,” his smile has an evil twist, one I know too well. “Here…” he shakes a bowl of chocolate covered candy in front my nose; cruelly slapping away my fingers before I can grab one. “No, no…not for you my darkling… these are special sweeties for the boys and girls.”

Pouting doesn’t change his mind, “Now Blade, you don’t want to get the party started too early do you?” Daddy scolds, whipping the bowl away and placing it on the table with all the other goodies.

He’s taken such care over preparing our party favours, precisely weighing out all of the different ingredients, sugars and flours and all the white powders. The glistening gooey piles of yum taunt me… but only for a moment as the doorbell signals the arrival of our guests.

Daddy pulls the grizzled mask over his face, the second skin fitting poorly looking all the more grotesque. He takes care to fix my outfit, the blood now having dried in thick lines all down my pretty ruined dress. “Good girl,” he praises, “are you ready? Now what do you say?”